Watch me as I glide
by TakeneNe
Summary: Aren't people fascinating? Every one of them has a different story to tell, different path that led them here and a different reason to stay. Jiraiya just wants to know them all.


**Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto-sensei. Don't mind me playing here.**

Title from: _Mumford & Sons – Lover of the Light_, because it actually kinda fits the text. Or at least the back story in my head :D

A/N: Basically just a quick try at writing in present tense. It's weiiiird.

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 **Watch me as I glide**

Day is warm and bright and peaceful, or as peaceful as it gets at noon in the crowded café.

Jiraiya is sitting by a counter, sprawled comfortably on the bar stool with his hands folded before him and his chin resting on top, lazily watching people move around him.

 _Oto-café_ is a unique place.

It has a pleasant, homey atmosphere and kind staff that is always willing to share a smile with the customers, even on the gloomiest of days. It is situated just behind the corner of a busy street, close enough to attract the traffic but not to be flooded by it, and most importantly it serves the finest, truly delicious coffee. The kind that almost begs you to come back for more.

But it's the _people_ that make this place. Amazing, exceptional, unusual people not fooled by the somewhat unappealing, ragged exterior that makes _Oto_ almost invisible for those favouring flashy vibes.

And so there is a man in a very expensively looking suit in the right corner of the shop, with a leather briefcase resting beside his legs and a large glass of iced coffee, two straws, on his table. His face still looks youthful enough but his hair is completely gray – chin-length and unruly. There is a warm smile playing on his lips, too. Opposite of him is another man, wider in shoulders and dressed only in black. He's laughing openly, scratching the back of his head with one hand and making his already messy bun even messier. Loose strands of black hair are falling down on the sides of his face, almost dunking in the coffee cream. Their hands are linked beside the glass.

There is a girl, leaning casually against the window not so far away from them, no more than fifteen, judging by the softness of here features. She's smiling brightly to her friends, shaking her head. Her eyes are round and shining, her posture relaxed and she's giggling sporadically as a blond boy on her left uses his fingers to trace small figures on her back. Facing them is sitting another couple, a beautiful girl with long, black, silky hair and a boy with a weird slop twisting his lips. They are both smiling as well.

In the middle of the room there's a red-headed woman leisurely reading a book while three children she's minding eat ice cream and giggle around her. Two boys and a girl, one with hair as red as her own, looking like a mini carbon copy of her whenever his mouth isn't stretched out in a wide grin. All three of them are doing their best to create cute little napkin origamis.

There's a young couple at the counter right next to him, bickering about syrup flavours and nutritional properties. Their dark heads are kept close together and their sides are touching on the whole length. The man has a spiky ponytail and two nasty scars crossing one side of his face. She doesn't seem to notice them at all.

There is also an old, very, very old woman sitting alone in the furthest corner he's able to see. She has snowy white waist-length hair, visibly thinned by age, and a nostalgic smile on her wrinkled lips. She's holding a photo in a dried hand, caressing with her thumb a face of someone he cannot see. Hot, black coffee is steaming in front of her.

Aren't people fascinating? Every one of them has a different story to tell, even if only the smallest one, a different path that led them here and a different reason to stay.

Jiraiya smiles, stirring his own coffee as his gaze slides to the barista. Beautiful, pale, gracious barista, with smooth braid of inky black hair and bold, purple make-up. He smiles back at Jiraiya when he notices his attention and turns back to serve another client.

Jiraiya often spends his free days sitting in _Oto_ for hours, just observing people. It's an excellent practice and material collecting for his stories, and coffee here really lives up to its opinion of being the best. He especially likes to stay till the closing hour, when the last hurrying clients step in for a quick take-out espresso or the last piece of pie. He likes to follow their steps outside the glassy walls until they disappear around the corner, wondering what is the destination they're so eager to reach. Building stories behind the people he sees is always liberating. It's a chance to let his ever over-productive imagination flow freely and with no bounds, until he spots something really worth the time and consideration.

But most of all, Jiraiya likes the moment when everyone else has already left and the lights are fading one by one as Orochimaru kills them on his route to the front door, keys in one manicured hand and untied apron hanging loosely from the other. He likes how the man always puts his glasses back in place and fixes his braid, not quite smiling yet, but with expression open and welcoming. He likes the few steps it always takes to get close enough to touch, to pull him by the hips and embrace gently as they together walk out the door to head home.

The End

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You know what? I flat out hate using hair colour as a character descriptor, never do that whenever I can simply use a name or a title. Yet here I am, building a whole freakin' fic around it. My brain hates me. Thanks brain.

And yep, I totally put Kaguya in there :D

 _Cross-posted from AO3, link to my account there on my profile page_


End file.
